


Home Is Where You Hang Your Heart

by FeelingFredly



Category: Bleach
Genre: A Not-a-Valentine Valentine, Angst and Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mutual Pining, unintentional self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22735618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelingFredly/pseuds/FeelingFredly
Summary: Ichimaru Gin wasn't welcome in Soul Society even though he'd been granted amnesty for his actions surrounding his involvement with Aizen, but what was one more ex-Shinigami Captain banished to the human world to Ichigo Kurosaki, Champion of those that the Gotei 13 had screwed over?After a year of sharing an apartment with the redhead, though, Gin had learned more than how to survive as a human again...  he'd learned how to fall in love like one, too.  It was too bad that no one, especially not Ichigo, could ever feel the same way about him.
Relationships: Ichimaru Gin/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 229
Collections: GinIchi WinterFest 2020





	Home Is Where You Hang Your Heart

Ichigo pulled another handkerchief from his pocket and pushed it across the table. He’d learned to come prepared to these meetings. “He’s doing fine, Ran. I swear. Please don’t cry.”

The redhead thanked him and swiped once at her eyes before the cloth disappeared into a shaky fist. “I know, I know,” she sighed and straightened her shoulders, “I just…” her voice faded away and her gaze clouded. “I just worry, you know?”

Ichigo knew.

Rangiku was a fierce fighter, a bottomless pit when it came to alcohol, and a shameless flirt. She was also a mother hen, a victim of spiritual abuse, and someone still desperately trying to come to grips with the truth about a relationship that had turned out to be nothing like she’d always believed. It was no wonder she was torn up.

“I don’t want him to think..” She couldn’t even begin to put all the things she didn’t want Gin to think into words.

“What?” Ichigo snorted. “You don’t want him to think that you don’t care? That you wouldn’t take on the whole of Seireitei if it would make a difference?” He rolled his eyes and Ran gave him a watery smile. _Just like Yuzu and Karin_ , he thought, _she just needs someone to tell her it’s okay. That she’s done enough_. “Trust me. He knows. He also knows that it wouldn’t make any difference.” Ran’s face puckered up a little and he raised a hand to stop her before the tears could start again. “ _Yet._ It wouldn’t make any difference _yet_. It’s going to take a long time for people to stop believing the worst of him.”

She nodded and then looked at him, weighing her words. “You don’t believe the worst of him.”

Ichigo settled back in his chair and shrugged. “I’m also the guy with a hollow living in the back of his head who spends all his time with a Visored who turns the world upside down and a banished Captain of the Gotei 13 who I’m _pretty sure_ sells sex dolls out of the back of his candy store. Some of those housewives that come by regularly are pretty scary.” He shook his head. “Understanding Gin is a walk in the park after that. But don’t tell him I said that. It might make him feel like he has to prove something.”

Ran laughed, her first real laugh since they’d sat down together. “Oh no, you wouldn’t want that. The human world might not survive.”

Ichigo thought about Gin laser-focused on _teaching him a lesson_ and struggled to fight back a flush before it gave the woman across the table something else to think about. The last thing he needed—even less than another occasionally sadistic ex-Captain—was a matchmaking Rangiku. 

He lifted his drink in a silent toast, hiding his red cheeks behind the rim of his cup. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

***

“Here. I brought some hot chocolate.” Gin handed a wide ceramic cup across to the little girl sitting on the tatami. She was posed beside a window made of balsa wood and rice paper, a small lamp on the other side giving the impression of winter sunlight streaming in on the puddle of brightly colored silk that wrapped her tiny frame. “If you like it, I have a tin for you t’ take home. You’ve been so patient.”

A blush of happiness pinked her cheeks. _Never too young to appreciate being appreciated_ , he thought, taking a moment to readjust his camera, _or to be susceptible to bribery_.

“Is it good, Suzu-chan?” He cocked his head to one side as he asked and the little girl nodded, her face buried in the steamy cup, eyes big as they stared at him over the rim. Perfect. He snapped another photo.

He kneeled up and moved across to the other side of the mat, moving slowly so as not to startle the child. She’d clung to her mother when they arrived, tears threatening during the long process of putting the layers of the kimono on her, but she’d relaxed after a few gentle compliments and a few sweets. 

“Ah, your hair’s so pretty today. Did your mother fix it for you?”

The big eyes narrowed a fraction as she nodded. _So… not totally susceptible to flattery. That’s a good girl. Stay smart like that_. He looked down at his camera, watching the suspicious look fade from the girl’s face through the preview screen and when she raised the cup again, he snapped another picture.

Gin paused, checking the light and the little girl’s positioning for the umpteenth time. Suzu-chan’s mother was waiting patiently in the alcove off the set watching and he motioned for her to come over.

“I’m almost finished, but I would like to try to get at least one standing photo now that she’s calmed down. Could you help her up, please? She was afraid she was going t’ trip in the hikizuri earlier, and I don’t want her to panic again.”

The woman bowed to him and smiled, creeping over to the little girl and holding her hand out for the cup with a sing-songy, “ _Kashite_ , Su-chan?” The child handed the cocoa to her easily and smiled as her mother helped her to her feet, getting her balance on the tiny okobo before sending a shy smile to Gin, proud of her accomplishment.

“Jus’ perfect, Suzu-chan,” he said, moving so her mother could step away. He ducked in and straightened the hem of the kimono with a practiced twitch. “Stand right there for me.” He focused the camera in his hands and palmed a remote for a second camera on a tripod on the other side of the tatami. A single press of the button and the camera started taking automated photos on a timer, a hidden eye on the tiny subject in front of him. “Now,” he said, making a production of raising the camera in his hand, “can you bow for me? Jus’ once, please?”

The little girl looked at him, a fierce look of concentration on her face, and she dipped into a bow so lovely that it would have made a maiko rage with jealousy. _The grace of innocence_ , he thought, taking a final picture of the girl, half-turned away, miniature rice-paper kanzashi swinging beside her cheek.

And then they were done. It took almost as long to remove the hikizuri as it did to put it on, but at least by the end of it the child wasn’t crying. He bowed deeply to the pair of them and made arrangements with the mother for the finished photo package to be sent for approval before turning to his model and bowing again. “Thank you so much, Suzu-chan. You made my job so easy, and now you’re all finished.”

A big grin spread across the little face. “Thank you, _shashin-ka-san_!” She gave him a bow in return. “Do I still get to have the hot chocolate?”

Gin smiled. _That’s right, little one,_ _never lose track of what’s important._ “Of course.” He nodded seriously. “You’ve earned it.” He handed her the tin and she hugged it to her chest with another bow of thanks before leading her mother back out into the festival in a whirlwind of excitement.

“Another happy customer,” a voice murmured behind him.

Gin didn’t jump but it was close. The gigai from Urahara was many things, but good at reiatsu sensing wasn’t one of them. Yet another thing to get accustomed to. “All my customers are happy, Kurosaki-kun. I take pride in my ability,” he tilts his head a fraction and looked at the redhead over his shoulder, “to satisfy.”

He was fairly certain that the color on Ichigo’s cheeks wasn’t from the winter wind. At least he didn’t need to relearn _that_.

“Clearly,” the younger man said, aiming for cool. “That’s why you’re booked solid for the whole festival.”

Gin walked over to the corner where his computer was set up temporarily, plugging the camera in to download the pictures he’d taken. “You sound surprised, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo shrugged. “I’ll admit that the whole ‘authentic Meiji era costume photography’ thing wasn’t something I saw coming, and the fact that you’re a freaking child whisperer is oddly unnerving, but your success? No surprise there. I’m pretty sure you could sell freezers in the Arctic if you set your mind to it.”

A bitter retort hovered on the tip of his tongue _\-- Even without Aizen hypnotizing people for me, Kurosaki-kun?—_ but he forced it back. Ichigo didn’t deserve it. He was one of the most straightforward people Gin had ever dealt with. It wasn’t his fault that no one else said what they meant.

“I jus’ know what people want, Kurosaki-kun.” He tipped his head to one side. “Like you. I know what _you_ want, too.”

Ichigo froze like a red deer suddenly faced with a wolf. It was adorable.

“A-and what do I want, if you’re so smart?” His voice was a little too shaky and Gin could tell he was on the verge of retreating into denial and bluster. He really shouldn’t push so hard. It was just too much fun sometimes.

Gin took a moment to unplug things and slide the laptop into its bag. He’d work on today’s photos back at the apartment.

“Why the same thing I want, of course,” he said, smiling a little as he caught the bob of Adam’s apple out of the corner of his eye. “Dinner. It’s been a long day. You want t’ get takoyaki from the vendor next door, or d’ you have something else in mind?”

Ichigo paused and shook his head like he was trying to clear out cobwebs.

“Takoyaki.” He picked up the now packed computer bag and slung it over his shoulder leaving Gin to lock the little studio up for the night. “I’m starving.”

***

Ichigo bulled his way through the crowd trusting Gin to stick close behind him. He didn’t look around. He was sure his face was still red, and he didn’t trust himself to keep his mouth shut if Gin decided to tease him more.

_I know what you want, too._

The words echoed in his head, and he wished he could have the moment back, just once, to do something differently, to be brave and face this thing that hung between them. To admit that yes there was something he wanted, something he wanted badly, and it sure as hell wasn’t takoyaki.

The crowd parted in front of him, his scowl was good for that, and almost before he realized it, they’d made it to the food stand.

Ichigo had never liked takoyaki growing up, but the first day of the festival Gin had pointed out the stand, excited over something in a way that Ichigo’d rarely seen, and he happily let the older man drag him there for dinner after they’d worked up an appetite setting up the studio. Gin didn’t remember his human life any more than most occupants of Seireitei, but it was clear he’d lived in the Kansai region from his accent, so it made sense that he’d love a food that Osaka was famous for. What Ichigo hadn’t been prepared for was the sheer pleasure on Gin’s face as he ate the little fried bites like he hadn’t eaten in forever.

Just what he needed on top of Gin’s teasing.

The vendor greeted them with a smile and started shoveling the steaming balls into paper boats. “I have something for you Ichimaru-san,” he says, handing over a little dark pot along with the takoyaki. It smells sweet and sour and like citrus and vinegar.

“Ponzu!” Gin looked like one of the kids he took pictures of, all pleased smiles and gracious head tilts. “Thank you, Sato-san!” He drizzled it generously over his boat and breathed in deeply, his enjoyment clear on his face. “This smells amazing!”

Sato-san nodded with satisfaction. “My wife made it and when I told her you’d mentioned missing it, she wanted me to bring you some. It isn’t for the menu, but for a good customer like you?” He bowed deeply and chuckled. “I am happy to be able to do this.”

Gin looked almost startled by the kindness and bowed deeply. “Please let your wife know that her generosity was most appreciated. If there is anything I can do for you—I’d be happy to do a portrait for her if she’d like. I have a new kimono that needs a model.”

The vendor laughed. “My Himari would be too embarrassed for something so grand. Your happiness is all she wanted, Ichimaru-san. I will pass along your compliments, though. A little flattery goes a long way, you know.”

Ichigo watched as a shutter closed across Gin’s face, the pleasure banking into something more polite and less real.

“Absolutely, Sato-san. It is even better if it is true, though, and it is. Thank you again! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He handed Ichigo his boat and bowed again before leading them to one of the few high-topped tables separating the counter from the crowd.

They stood there enjoying their food, Gin’s quiet mood so different from what Ichigo had been expecting, before he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“He didn’t mean anything by it, you know.” Ichigo waved a chopstick for emphasis. “He was just trying to be friendly.”

Gin paused for a moment and then nodded. “I know. It’s just hard sometimes t’ separate the real from the phony.” He took a bite and chewed silently, staring off into the crowd. “I’m tired of the lies and the manipulation. I just want people to know that I mean what I say. I want it to be real.”

Ichigo nudged him under the table with his knee. “It is real, and they know you mean what you say. A little bit of flattery isn’t the same as lying, it’s just… social lubricant.”

Gin made a noise in his throat and Ichigo could feel the heat returning to his cheeks. “I see. And _lubricant_ is something you’re familiar with Kurosaki-kun?”

“Bastard. You know what I meant.” His flush got worse and Ichigo couldn’t help but be thankful for the cold breeze blowing. He could pretend his face was just… wind-chapped. Right. “I guess what I was trying to say is that I know what it’s like when someone _doesn’t_ do it, like Isshin. Or _can’t_ do it, like me. Do you have any idea how many fights I could have avoided if I’d just learned how to say things differently? How many feelings I wouldn’t have hurt? How many times Karin wouldn’t have _stomped on my foot_ because I said something completely honest and still managed to completely miss the point of what I was trying to say?” He snorted and picked up another takoyaki.

“You missing the point, Kurosaki-kun? Surely not.” Gin teased, and Ichigo felt the tightness around his chest loosen a little. It was working.

“You have no idea.” He shook his head ruefully, perfectly willing to humiliate himself if it made Gin feel better. “One time I told her homeroom teacher that Isshin couldn’t make it to the parent/teacher conference because the yakuza thug with the stab wound was more important than she was. Completely true? Yes. Totally honest? Absolutely. Utterly the wrong thing to say? _Hell yes_. We had three social services visits that month because I was too stupid to realize what that would sound like to someone that didn’t live my life. Being able to spin things a little would have been a godsend.”

Gin sighed and pushed his empty takoyaki boat away from him. “After everything I did people don’t see it that way. As harmless spin, I mean. I lived a lie for more than a hundred years. My best friends… the people I loved... None of them could tell the difference, and now that they know that the person they thought I was never existed, they doubt everything I say. Honestly, I don’ blame them.”

The tightness squeezed Ichigo’s heart again, and he made an aborted reach across the table to touch Gin’s hand. “I get it. I really do. You’re better at double-talk than most, and you haven’t always been the most honest guy in the world, but now you’re using your skills for good instead of evil, so it’s different. You don’t have to be so afraid of just being yourself, you know. Especially not with me. And if they can’t tell the difference? Fuck ‘em. Just be you. The people that care will figure it out.”

Ichigo popped the last fried dough ball in his mouth deliberately. He _had_ learned a little bit about shutting up over the years, even if he wasn’t good at the whole moderated-honesty thing, so he chewed and waited.

Gin didn’t say anything for a few minutes and Ichigo was afraid that once again he’d managed to make things worse rather than better.

“You make it sound so easy, Kurosaki-kun.” His voice was almost wistful under its normal layer of snark.

Ichigo shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be hard. Just, I don’t know… treat people the way your treat the kids you take pictures of. Tell them what you want. Say thank you when you get it. Be firm but fair. Oh, and don’t let Hirako talk you into going to jazz bars, and never drink anything Urahara hands you. Simple.”

Pale blue eyes peered at him through dark blond lashes. “Only you, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo frowned. “Only I would what?”

Gin shook his head and gave one of his closed-mouth smiles, clearly pleased but also clearly unwilling to explain.

 _Well, at least he was smiling_.

***

Ichigo puttered around in their little kitchen and Gin could hear the sound of the tea tin and the kettle. It was amazing how comfortable he’d become sharing his space. He hadn’t felt this way since he and Ran shared the back room of a little inn in the Rukongai where the innkeeper was kind enough to let them do errands for a space of their own, however small.

“I told Yuzu that we’d come for dinner Sunday evening. She found a recipe for dojima roll that she wants your opinion of.” 

Ichigo had stopped asking if Gin wanted to do things once he realized that the answer was always going to be some form of _no_. He insisted that interaction was necessary if Gin was going to survive staying in the human world and that his family and friends were the least likely to cause problems if he slipped up and spoke of things that humans wouldn’t—or shouldn’t—understand. It didn’t seem to occur to him that their familiarity with Seireitei and the problems with Aizen meant that his family and friends were also the ones most likely to have a problem with him in the first place, or that it might be hard for Gin to sit across the table from Isshin, Ran’s old Captain, and pretend that nothing was wrong, pretend that he didn’t know that the man would prefer _anyone else_ for his eldest child. 

“You know I appreciate the offer, but I can’t. Please apologize to Yuzu for me.” Gin kept his voice even. “It’s the last weekend of the Winter Fest and I have a full day of sittings scheduled…”

His voice trailed off as Ichigo wandered out of the bathroom. He had a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair still wet from the shower, and Gin didn’t think he’d ever seen him so at ease. The water darkened the spiky locks turning the natural orange into something softer, and his eyes glowed amber against his tan. It took his breath away.

Luckily, Ichigo had no clue about the effect he had.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I checked the schedule and you have the second set of Shima portraits to do in the afternoon—the youngest boy I think. You had him down for the hitatare, although why anyone wants to put a three year old in a samurai outfit is still a mystery to me—but you should be done with him by four and then it’s just back here to drop off the equipment, and then I can open a garganta from anywhere so we won’t have to worry about travel time, and…”

Gin held up a hand and Ichigo ground to a halt. “Kurosaki-kun, please.”

Something in his voice made the redhead frown. “What?”

He stilled himself, the shallow smile he’d worn for years hovering, but he forced himself not to give into the lie. He could do this. “I just… don’t think I should go. I appreciate the invitation but, no. Not this time. Thank you.”

A light dimmed in Ichigo’s eyes and Gin wished he could take his words back, but this was for the best.

“Oh,” the spiky head nodded, and he could see the shudder of a breath drawn too deeply too fast. “Okay. I get it. Simple, right?” There was nothing simple in Ichigo’s response.

“What do you mean, Kurosaki-kun?” Gin tilted his head a little, a tiny whisper of dread shot through his curiosity about what would happen next.

He should have known nothing about Ichigo would play out the way he expected. Slowly the younger man fisted his hands in the ends of the towel, pulling it tightly over his chest, and he shrugged, too casually, before answering.

“It’s like I said. You’re telling me what you want—firm and fair—and saying thank you. Couldn’t be much clearer. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable, I just…” he looked away, his composure slipping into something soft and hurt.

Gin wanted to tell him, wanted to explain that _he_ hadn’t made him uncomfortable, that Gin was being a coward, that he wanted to keep Ichigo to himself, that he dreamed of them hiding away here in Osaka not just for the festival season but always. He couldn’t, though. He’d driven enough distance between people that he cared about. He wasn’t going to be the cause of a rift between Ichigo and his family and friends.

“It isn’t like that.” The explanation sounded weak even to him.

“Then what is it like?” The words burst from the younger man. “I don’t understand. I thought you liked spending time with…”

 _Me_ , Gin could almost hear him say, and wouldn’t that open Pandora’s Box?

“I do.” The conversation was quickly becoming something Gin wasn’t prepared to deal with. “It’s just that I’ve been worried. Your father has been very generous to allow me into his home, but I know it must…”

A twisted bark of laughter split the space between them “You’re kidding. You’re worried _about Isshin_?”

When he put it that way it sounded a little strange, but Gin remembered the way the Taichō had watched him when he’d pushed Rangiku away. Remembered the judgment in his eyes. That kind of feeling didn’t just vanish into thin air.

“He was Rangiku’s captain. He didn’t approve of the way I treated her back then, and I’ve seen the way he looks at me now. I don’t want to cause any more trouble, Kurosaki-kun, and I certainly don’t want to force you to choose between me and your family.”

Ichigo looked at him like he was insane, and maybe he was. After everything that had happened, it was probably a foregone conclusion.

“First off, Isshin can take care of himself. He isn’t as much of an ass as he seems, but if he has a problem with you, he’ll deal with it his own way in his own time. Trust me. He learned to deal with the Visoreds, and with Yoruichi, and Urahara, and he’ll either learn to accept you or I’ll punch him in the head until he shuts up, but either way that isn’t something to worry about.”

Gin’s heart stuttered a little in his chest. No one but Ran had ever been willing to fight for him before.

He forced his mouth to form words. “You can’t just punch anyone that doesn’t want me around in the head until they give in, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo stuck his chin out a fraction and met his eyes fiercely. “Try me.”

And, oh Soul King help him if he didn’t want to.

***

He was a grown man. He would be 200 next year. He could do this. It was only dinner.

“So, Ichimaru-san,” the bland voice could have hidden a dagger in it, or it could have just been Isshin being polite. “How’s the photography business going?”

Ichigo shifted minutely beside him and Karin shot an under-lashes look at him and he marveled for a moment when he realized that they were both preparing to jump in and defend him. From a question about his business. That he was proud of. 

Kurosakis. They were insane. The whole lot of them.

“I won’t pretend there wasn’t a steep learning curve, but I’m pleased with it.” Gin sipped his miso and smiled appreciatively at Yuzu who was watching every bite he took. The girl had pulled out all the stops with dinner, making a whole bevy of Osakan favorites in his honor. “There is something magical about being able to capture a moment forever.”

Yuzu nodded when she was satisfied that he like the food well enough. “I love the kimono you designed for Inoue’s engagement portrait. I thought Ishida-san was going to have a stroke when she declared that she wanted you to handle the wedding, but even he was pleased with how the pictures turned out, and you know how fussy he is about everything.”

Gin had been surprised as well, but the Quincy was besotted and whatever his _Princess_ wanted she got, even if it happened to be a disgraced Shinigami as his wedding photographer. Although, honestly, the fact that he’d killed a number of traitorous Shinigami was probably a point in his favor as far as Ishida was concerned.

“Matsumoto told me you’d been sponsored by the Sōtaichō himself.” Isshin raised an eyebrow. “Must have made things a lot easier having that kind of backing.”

It was true. Money made money and Gin wouldn’t have been able to do nearly as much as quickly if he’d been working from zero. It was a situation that benefitted Kyōraku—human world money wasn’t an issue for the Shinigami, and he’d have one fewer reminder of Aizen and the destruction around him if Gin wasn’t in Seireitei every day—but he was fairly certain that it had been Ichigo who convinced him.

“Indeed,” he nodded and smiled a careful smile, “he wanted me out from underfoot, and the seed money for my business was less than he’s funneled into Urahara-san’s shōten or what he provides for Hirako-san and the other Visored.”

Karin snorted. “I bet. Having you out of sight meant he didn’t to have to explain to everyone that you were smarter than everyone else and had been trying to take Aizen out of the picture before the rest of them ever got their heads out of their asses.”

Isshin made a startled noise and snapped his eyes across the table to his daughter; she glared right back at him. “You know I’m right. And anyway, what was he going to do? The amnesty wouldn’t have protected Ichimaru-san from the nuts in Seireitei that wanted a scapegoat, and he couldn’t just dump him in the human world without having his presence draw every hollow within a hundred miles. He had to make a deal with Urahara-sensei, and you and I both know that _he_ wasn’t going to do anything without some cold, hard, bankable reasons for helping the Gotei 13 after all the ways they’ve screwed him over.”

Isshin choked on a laugh. “You know, sometimes I think that letting you work with Urahara might not have been the best idea I ever had.”

Yuzu shoved a bowl of yakisoba at him with a huff. “Like it was ever your decision.” She looked at Gin and smiled, as sweet to him as she’d been gruff to her father. “We would have found a way to study with Urahara-sensei no matter what Dad said. He just went along with it because he didn’t want to look like a pushover because we went behind his back.” She shot a pointed look at her brother. “He’s learned to pick his fights.”

Ichigo couldn’t smother his own grin at that. He was so proud of his sisters and he’d trained them to stand up for themselves no matter what. Gin knew that if they wanted to study with the Shinigami, Isshin wasn’t going to be able to stop them. Ichigo would never allow it, and from what he’d seen of Karin and Yuzu, he might not even have needed to step in.

Isshin sighed dramatically. “You see how they are? So stubborn,” he smiled at Gin for the first time, a sharp little glint hinting in his eye running counter to the broad grin, “they get it from their mother. Just like Ichigo. Once they get something in their heads there’s no talking them out of it. No matter how dangerous it might be.”

 _You’re a bad influence on my son, but I know him well enough not to push. He’d dig his heels in and be even more on your side, and I’m not dumb enough to do that, no matter what people might think of how Shibas handle things._ Gin could almost hear the wheels turning. He could play that game, too, though. He’d spent enough time with Aizen that he could probably carry on twelve-layer conversations if needed.

“Luckily, all three of your children seem to be blessed with the uncanny ability to accumulate allies who will back them up no matter how dangerous the situation they find themselves in.” He smiled at the girls, wide and guileless, and he forced himself not to respond to the disbelieving snort from the redhead sitting beside him. “I know that there are at least half a dozen Captains willing to fall in line and ask _how high_ if any one of them said _jump_.”

 _You don’t have to worry about Ichigo. There is a line of people willing to remove me from the picture in an instant if I hurt him._ Gin let the smile drop from his face and actually met Isshin’s gaze, waiting until the man recognized the message and nodded once, satisfied at least for the moment.

“Have you seen Matsumoto-san recently, then?” Gin changed the topic, remembering what Isshin had said about them discussing Gin’s sponsorship.

The ex-captain nodded. “She drops by every now and then. Now that she’s forgiven me for disappearing on her.” He sighed. “Neither of us have been very good to her, have we, Ichimaru-san?”

There was a pain in the other man’s voice that echoed in Gin’s chest. No. Neither of them had been very good to Ran, no matter how much they cared for her.

Ichigo spoke up. “I saw her yesterday. She needed help with something Hitsugaya wanted her to set up in the training yard at the tenth.”

Gin looked at him and noticed there was a bit of flush along the tips of Ichigo’s ears. Like something was embarrassing him.

“Aw, did she flash her boobs at you again, Ichi-nii?” Karin teased, also having noticed the redness. “If she keeps doing that you should have Toshiro reprimand her for sexual harassment.”

Ichigo’s face was burning now. “It wasn’t like that at all. She hasn’t flashed me in…”

Amber eyes shot up to aqua ones and Gin couldn’t figure out what the panicked look in them meant.

“We set up some new kidō exercise targets and then had lunch. She offered to feed me because I’d done her a favor and we hadn’t talked in forever.” He glared at his sister. “That was it, and don’t start threatening to talk to _Toshiro_ just because you want an excuse to talk to him. Ran doesn’t need any more trouble.”

Yuzu stood and headed for the kitchen, probably to bring out the dessert she was so excited about, but Gin couldn’t take his eyes off Ichigo. There was something strange, there. He hadn’t seen that kind of reaction in him in a long time. Not since… well, not since he’d defended _him_.

Karin stood to help her sister with a huff. “Fine. But you shouldn’t let her treat you like that. I’ve seen the way she gets all handsy and flirtatious when she’s out. It’s bad enough when it’s someone like Hisagi-san that she’s already had a relationship with, but she needs to know that there are boundaries that aren’t cool to cross.”

“I can take care of myself, Karin,” Ichigo said. “You’re just jealous because _Toshiro_ gets an eyeful just standing next to her. It isn’t Ran’s fault.”

It was true, the younger Kurosaki was obviously jealous, her feelings for the snow prince out there for everyone to see, but Gin couldn’t explain away the curdling feeling in his own stomach at the idea of Ran hanging on Ichigo, drunk and flirtatious, her copious _charms_ on display. She was beautiful, and Ichigo _was_ only human, after all.

Ichigo tapped Gin on the shoulder, the warm hand pulling him from his reverie. “Look. Yuzu’s dojima roll. She’s been waiting for this for forever.”

Gin leaned into the touch a little, ostensibly to get a better view of the tray Yuzu was carrying and the heat of Ichigo’s skin almost scalded him he was so hyperaware of it.

 _And I’ve been waiting for this forever._ The thought sucker punched him, and he couldn’t stifle a gasp.

“Everything okay there, Ichimaru-san?” Isshin asked, his eyes taking in the closeness between Gin and Ichigo.

Gin shoved it all down into the box where he kept all his emotions, refusing to let his feelings cause yet more problems.

“Of course, Kurosaki-san,” he said with a tilt of his chin, pulling his phone out of his pocket as a distraction. “I was just surprised by Yuzu-chan’s skills once again. That looks amazing.” He lifted the phone enquiringly. “Could I take a photo, please? It’s just too lovely not to record for posterity.”

Yuzu smiled brightly enough to not need extra lighting, and Gin was thankful that the dojima roll was, actually, impressive enough to merit his attentions. He spent a few minutes fussing over it and Yuzu, taking different pictures and letting Karin tell him about the other roll cakes that had failed and been passed off to Jinta at the shōten. Gin smiled and nodded and allowed the noise to wash over him as he slowly reassembled his shattered reality around his newly recognized feelings for the man sitting next to him.

He put the phone down and picked up his plate, nibbling at the sweet to make it last as long as possible before he had to face Ichigo alone on their trip back to their apartment.

It was ridiculous how obvious his feelings were when he stopped and actually looked at them; he wondered if they were that clear to everyone else. Isshin’s comments could have easily been a shovel talk, and he’d gotten similar _don’t fuck with Ichigo_ lectures from several of his friends. Probably worst, looking back, had been the hand pats and understanding looks he’d gotten from Orihime. She’d said “Once Ichigo decides someone is worth caring about you just have to let him. He isn’t going to stop; he just takes a while to figure things out. So, be patient with him. Okay, Ichimaru-san?”

 _He_ _takes a while…?_ Gin would have laughed if he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to stop.

They stayed like that for a while, the wound-spring-tightness of his nerves slowly relaxing as they finished dinner and prepared to leave.

“Ichimaru-san!” Yuzu piped up from the table where she was standing. “Don’t forget your phone. Can I get a copy of that photo you took?”

She dragged her fingers across the screen and the phone lit up, and as quick as a striking cobra she was flipping through the icons searching for the camera function.

“Oh, here they are. I’d just sync the phones, but mine is charging upstairs and I…”

She stopped, staring at the photo library and Gin wondered what she’d seen. He didn’t use the camera for much, just random candid shots. He’d taken a lot of pictures of the displays at the Winter Festival, the lights and the people. Nothing special.

She flipped through screen after screen, her eyes getting bigger until Karin reached over and snagged it from her. 

“Here, let me look. It can’t be that hard to find. I mean, he just took the pictures an hour ago.”

She looked down at the screen and then back up at her sister, sharing some twin mind-meld apparently before Karin stopped on one photo in particular and pulled it up.

“Ichi-nii,” she said, looking over at her brother where he was gathering their things to leave. “You should see this.”

Something heavy settled in Gin’s stomach.

“Sure, what is it?” He noticed that it was Gin’s phone in his sister’s hand. “Don’t tell me you stole his phone. Come on, what are you? Twelve?”

He reached out and as she dropped it in his hand Gin caught a glimpse of the screen.

It was Ichigo standing at the window of their apartment, the dawn sky casting a slanted light over his grinning face. He remembered the moment—they’d been laughing after breakfast, getting ready to open the Festival Studio, and Ichigo had been so striking in the half-light, the expression on his face so clear and bright, that Gin couldn’t resist taking his picture, even as Ichigo groaned and complained that he always looked stupid in photos, and why did Gin insist on doing this to him.

It was an attractive picture, no doubt, but he didn’t understand why it seemed to affect the girls so much.

Ichigo didn’t understand either, apparently.

“Huh, this one turned out pretty good.” He looked at Gin and rolled a shoulder. “I guess you’re good enough at this photography thing that you can even make _me_ look okay.”

The girls were still doing the silent conversation thing and Isshin had caught on. He took two of his oddly graceful strides across the room and took the phone from Ichigo, looking at the image that was causing all the fuss.

First came surprise, but hard on its heels was something else, something softer, and Isshin’s whole stance changed as he looked up. He looked at Gin and paused before asking. “You think I could get a copy of this one?” He waggled the phone to indicate the picture and Gin nodded. “Don’t have any recent pics of Ichigo for the scrapbook, and Masaki would love this one.”

Ichigo snagged the phone and groaned. “Come on, old man, it’s just a picture. Gin takes tons of them. It’s no big deal.”

“But you’re smiling, Ichi-nii.” Yuzu’s voice was quiet. “You were smiling in all of them. I don’t think we have any pictures of you smiling. Not since… well, not since you were little.”

 _Not since his mother died_ , Gin filled in. The girls were looking at him intently, an almost painful hope on their face. He understood. He’d do almost anything to make the redhead smile, too.

“Well,” Ichigo was pinking around the edges again, the silent conversations finally making him too uncomfortable. “I guess he’s just good at getting me to smile. The sign of a good photographer, right?”

Isshin nodded. “Still. I’d like a copy. Sometime. There’s no rush. It’s not like you won’t be coming back for dinner next week, right Ichimaru-san? I’m sure Yuzu would love to use you as a guinea pig for more of her new recipes.”

Something settled between the two ex-captains with the invitation, an olive branch extended. Isshin was willing to bury the past because somehow Gin had made his son happy and he would do anything to help keep him that way, and Gin… well, Gin was no fool. The girls watched him, looking like they expected him to run from whatever this silent agreement was, but all Gin could think was that they weren’t going to fight to keep him out of Ichigo’s life, and for that he would put up with a thousand family dinners.

“I’d be delighted. Have you ever had persimmon bread, Yuzu? Karin? I’ll bring some with us the next time we come. You’ll love it.”

***

“Tonight is the last night. You should get to enjoy the festival a little instead of just working through it.”

Ichigo had been wheedling and coaxing for the past two days saying that Gin needed to relax a little, that he’d been working too hard. The truth was, Gin had been using work to hide from this thing that was threatening to consume him. He would see Ichigo over breakfast and long to brush the soft spikes of his hair down. He watched from the protected corner of his workspace, two monitors hiding his face as he spied on the other man reading or playing video games or sketching. He would lose his train of thought as he was matching silks for his costumes because a color would remind him of Ichigo, and at night? At night his dreams were haunted by aches that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for decades.

“You know I have clients scheduled right up until five, Kurosaki-kun.” Gin couldn’t help but laugh at the pout that flitted across Ichigo’s face.

“Well, then, just promise that you’ll meet me for dinner as soon as your last appointment is finished. You don’t have to break down the studio until tomorrow. Classes have been over for six weeks and I still haven’t gotten to really celebrate having survived another year.”

Gin gave him a snake-sharp smile. “I see. Since that’s the case, I suppose I can make time. It isn’t safe to let you loose unsupervised. You’re like an unsupervised toddler… someone will give you a puppy and an espresso and then we’ll all be doomed.”

Ichigo laughed. “I’d point out that you’re the one that’s good at wrangling toddlers, but I don’t want to be wrangled. Although, if you followed me around like a puppy, I probably wouldn’t complain.”

Gin’s heart was imitating a taiko from the twilight kumidaiko performances, slowly ramping up to a ferocious pace before dropping off and then starting up again without warning.

Ichigo was dressed in black trousers and a long black jacket that looked surprisingly like his bankai robes and Gin had been caught staring more than once. It must have been welcome, because the redhead’s usual awkwardness in the face of that kind of attention had turned into a terribly attractive swagger of confidence that Gin wanted to inspire in him again and again.

He was so attractive, and not just physically. It was as if a gravitational field surrounded him, that pulled people towards him, and Gin longed to stop fighting and let it pull him closer and closer until there was no space left between them, to let the whirlpool that was Ichigo Kurosaki suck him under, surround him, and drown him.

“Is this a special occasion?” he asked, his voice light and still teasing. Ichigo paused and then nodded once, slowly.

“Sort of.” He didn’t explain, but his face was pink, and Gin didn’t think it was from the cold.

“In that case, how can I say no?” He bowed, an almost snarky thing from the waist, and Ichigo smiled. “Where shall I meet you?”

Ichigo looked like he’d won a prize and Gin was afraid that his face was turning pink as well. _He hadn’t blushed like a schoolboy even when he’d been a schoolboy._

The things this man did to him.

“Seven, sharp. At the izakaya row. We’ll start there and see where the evening takes us.”

“Seven it is, then.” Gin watched Ichigo scoot away, obviously following plans that only he knew, and turned and headed into the studio, a spring in his step and a smile on his face.

Tonight, he would tell Ichigo how he felt, and if he was right, he wouldn’t be alone in his feelings.

***

Ichigo was walking on air.

Gin had finally agreed to go out with him, a night on the town… or at least on the festival. The izakaya alley would be a start with something to eat and then they’d get hot shochu and wander down to the light tunnel and look at all the displays.

He knew he hadn’t been imagining the looks being sent his way, and he certainly wasn’t imagining how those looks set his pulse racing. It was more nerve-wracking than battle in some ways; he wasn’t inexperienced, but he’d never felt anything like this.

Which is why he called in reinforcements.

“I want it to be perfect, Ran.” 

Ichigo appreciated the older woman’s willingness to help, but he was worried that she was going to turn it into a side-show. She wasn’t exactly known for her tact.

“Are you sure about this, Ichigo?” She’d been waiting for him, slowly—or not so slowly—making her way through a bottle of something alcoholic, and the wobble in her voice indicated that things were likely to get a little emotional. She was Gin’s only family, though, and if Gin could run the gauntlet at the Casa Kurosaki, he could deal with a sauced sister.

“I’ve never been more sure, Ran.” The words came easily, and Ichigo was almost surprised by the depth of truth in them. “Watching Gin get comfortable in his own skin over the past year has been amazing. Getting to see him puff out his chest and posture with tiny samurai or soothe a tiny tearful geiko? I can’t even begin to explain how it makes me feel. I have to give this a try.”

Ran looked at him seriously, her gaze taking his flushed face and shining eyes. “And if he doesn’t feel the same? I’ll be honest, Ichigo. I can’t remember the last time he let anybody close enough to do more than have a quick tumble. Kira moped after him for decades, you know.”

Ichigo swallowed hard. “Yeah, I know. If he doesn’t feel the same way, it’ll be rough for a while. But I’ll be graduating next year, and I can find another apartment. He’s doing well enough that he can hire an assistant if he needs the extra help, so he won’t have to deal with me at all if he doesn’t want to. I’m not going to take my disappointment out on him, if that’s what you’re worried about. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Ran shook her head. “Every time you open your mouth you either make me think you’re stupid or you’re perfect.”

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck. “Which is it this time?”

Ran leaned forward and put her arms around him, embracing him tightly and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Right now, I’d say you’re pretty damn perfect, Ichigo Kurosaki.”

They stood like that with the crowd parting around them, and Ichigo laughed, wrapping his arms around her as well.

“You really think it might work?” He looked down at her and grinned as she nodded.

“He’s smart enough to know a good thing when he sees it, and you are definitely good for him.”

Ichigo couldn’t hold his happiness in and swung her around like his would one of the twins, his heart filled with anticipation.

“Thank you Ran,” he said, setting her back on her feet, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support in this.”

Rangiku punched him in the shoulder and stepped back. “Don’t get too comfortable. If you screw up, I’m still going to tell your dad. And Renji. And Rukia. Believe me, I’ve thought this through.”

Ichigo grinned. “You wouldn’t be Gin’s sister if you hadn’t.”

***

The irony settled on him like a weighted blanket. His last appointment had cancelled—the child had come down with a cold—and Gin had been so excited to get to Ichigo early. He’d changed clothes—Ichigo had once seen him in a traditional kimono and had been enthusiastic in his praise, and whether it was just because it was a fine outfit or whether he thought it particularly attractive on Gin, he thought it would be a nice surprise since Ichigo had gone to such pains to dress up as well.

He’d chosen a gray silk montsuki and black hakama, something close to his shihakusho, and if he found comfort in it, then no one else needed to know.

The comfort hadn’t lasted.

He walked out of the festival grounds, just picking a direction and going. He didn’t know where he was headed, he just needed to get away. Clouds had moved in and the wind had picked up and the chill nipped at his skin. He barely noticed it.

The snow crunched under his feet. It was strange to make so much sound—his gigai made more noise than his reiatsu-silenced steps ever did—but everything was strange in the human world.

It was cold. His fingers were trembling and blue. He couldn’t feel them.

He couldn’t feel anything.

That wasn’t true. He felt pain. Pain that he hadn’t felt since he'd almost died in Ran’s arms, her scalding tears hot on his face, his blood hot as it gushed around her fingers. 

That pain was icy now.

He forced one foot in front of the other, following the path carved into the snow by hundreds of other people. The sounds of the festival surrounded him, but they seemed distant. Muffled.

The only thing he could hear was Ichigo’s laugh. It echoed through his memory, clear and warm and everything he’d ever wanted to hear and nothing he ever wanted to hear again. It hurt too much when he was laughing for someone else. 

Laughing for _her_. With _her._

He hadn’t meant to spy—honestly—he’d left the studio early hoping to pick up two of the ridiculous hot chocolates that Ichigo had become so fond of as a surprise. He thought…. Well, it didn’t matter what he thought. 

But _Ran_?

It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand someone loving her—he’d loved her forever—but… _Ran_? She was everything Ichigo rolled his eyes at in his sisters, all the over-the-top emotions and the talking and the teasing and the laughing.

Oh my God, the _laughing._

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. No, that wasn’t true either. He’d laughed over dinner when they hadn’t ordered enough takoyaki and he’d managed to distract Ichigo long enough that he stole the redhead’s out from under his nose without him noticing. He’d laughed at Ichigo’s ridiculous Chappy pajamas—a gift from Rukia—when he’d run out of clean laundry. He’d laughed at the frown on Ichigo’s face when he realized that Gin had taken a picture of him cooing over Orihime’s new pet rabbit.

He supposed it was only fair that Ichigo would prefer the company of someone that could make him laugh, too. 

His shuddering exhale surrounded his head in a cloud of fog.

It made sense in other ways. Ran asking for his help would explain why Ichigo’d invested so much time and effort in getting Gin on his feet. Helped him adjust to the human world. Certainly made more sense than him wanting to do it for _Gin_. They barely knew each other, and what they did know… well, it wouldn’t inspire kindness.

The weight of his thoughts dragged at him, just as the wet fabric of his hakama were dragging at him. His zori were soaked, tabi ruined in the snow, and he was cold. So cold.

And tired.

Maybe if he sat down and rested, just for a few minutes, he would be able to think of something else. Figure out what to do next. Right now, though, he just needed to rest. He just needed to close his eyes and pray he’d stop seeing the only two people he’d ever loved laughing together. 

Without him.

***

Ran was crying again.

She was always crying around him.

“Stupid _. Stupid._ Never thought I’d be so happy that Urahara was a paranoid mad scientist. Never would have found you without the gigai’s tracking signal. Stupid. What were you thinking? _Were_ you thinking? If you didn’t want to date the boy you didn’t have to do something this drastic, and this was drastic even for you.”

The words ran together, like water over stones.

“Kurosaki thinks you hate him. That somehow he pushed you to this. But I _know_ you don’t hate him. _I know you don’t hate him_. Maybe you hate yourself. Maybe you hate being banished to the human world. But you don’t hate _him_.”

The only person Gin hated was Aizen, and he was out of the picture, so she was right. He didn’t hate Ichigo. Could never hate him.

“I swear, if you don’t die from reishi loss, I’m going to kill you. _Isshin_ is going to kill you. Gods, that little almost spiritless one, the one with the red hair like Kurosaki? I think she was planning on chopping you up into stew before she remembered this body was just a gigai.”

Yuzu was going to turn him into stew? Why would _Yuzu_ be angry with him? He didn’t do anything.

“He isn’t eating. He isn’t sleeping. All he does is stare at the wall like a zombie. You’ve been unconscious for three days, Gin. _Three days._ You’ve got to wake up. _You’ve just got to wake up_.”

A warm hand rested over his. He could feel the too smooth skin of a gigai, no sword callouses on her fingers. So, Urahara was keeping busy. Maybe Ran could keep this one so she could stay in the human world with Ichigo.

“I just got you back; I can’t lose you again, Gin. And Kurosaki,” she sucked in a shuddery breath, “I don’t know what he’s going to do. I _just don’t know_. He loves you so damn much. I think he might love you more than I do. So why? Why did you do this to him? To us? Why didn’t you just tell him no?”

She was crying again, her hands grasping his hard.

 _He loves you so damn much_. Gin replayed her words, and something lurched in his chest. What did that mean? What did _she mean_? He forced himself up through the layers of exhaustion and weakness, swimming up through the waves that slapped at his consciousness.

“He loves _you_.” The words were broken glass in his throat, dry and sharp and everything he never wanted to say, but he got them out. “I saw the two of you at the festival. Laughing.”

His eyes wouldn’t open. Apparently Urahara’s gigais had a built-in sense of self-preservation. He knew he’d never survive looking at her face as he admitted what he knew.

A gasp and choking sound caught somewhere in her throat, whether in shock at his having regained consciousness or at what his first words were.

 _Then_ the rant began in earnest.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You unbelievable idiot!” Ran leaned over the bed and slapped his face, once, then twice, until finally Gin forced his eyes open a slit to see her tear-streaked, furious, face. “You mean to tell me that all of this, this _hell_ , is because you saw me laughing with Kurosaki?”

Gin turned his face away, unable or unwilling to continue the conversation. Reishi loss or not, he could still feel the pain simmering under his skin and Ran clearly didn’t understand.

“Gin,” Something of his pained expression must have registered. Ran started, stopped and then started again, her voice wavering between tears and angry laughter. “Dear, _stupid_ Gin. He was asking for my blessing. As your _family_. He wanted…” a hot tear dripped on his chin as she hovered over him, “he wanted everything to be _perfect_ for you, and that meant making sure that I approved. Of him. _For you_.” The last words were practically spat out and he finally looked at her. “What you saw was him incandescently happy because _he loved you_ , you utter, utter fool.”

Time stopped and Gin’s brain kicked in running through everything Ran had said since he’s first regained consciousness.

_Oh no…_

“Where is he?” the words shook, along with every cell in his borrowed body as he tried to push himself up. “I need to speak to him. To explain.”

If the pain of seeing him happy with Ran was excruciating, knowing that something he’d done had made him so miserable was infinitely worse.

And Ran… he tried to raise his hand to her face but still didn’t have enough reishi reserves to operate the gigai fully, so he squeezed her hand where it rested on the bed instead.

“Oh Rangiku, I am so sorry. I can’t seem to stop hurting you.”

Ran leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, her breathing not yet steady but getting there.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said, a few final tears meandering down her cheeks. “I’m too busy being happy to have my brother back.”

Gin marveled at her forgiveness and swore to himself again that he would do his damnedest to save her from this kind of pain in the future.

“Now,” Ran said, perching on the side of his bed, still holding his hand. “How are we going to fix this, because I’m not letting Isshin kick your ass. I have my family honor to protect.”

Gin didn’t know. A hundred years with Aizen had done a lot for his ability to manipulate people, but it sure as hell hadn’t taught him how to grovel, and he was afraid there was a lot of groveling in his future.

If it worked, though, it would be worth it. His pride was nothing compared to Ichigo.

***

Ichigo jumped a little as the alarm buzzed in his pocket. It looked like one of those coasters the restaurant hostess gave you while you were waiting for a table to open, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Kisuke had _liberated_ a few and repurposed them to run on reishi rather than reinvent the wheel. It didn’t matter, though. Kisuke could steal all the gadgets in Tokyo and Ichigo wouldn’t care as long as he let Ichigo keep this one.

This one was telling him that Gin was awake.

He let himself slump against the basement wall, the muscles in his legs refusing to hold him up. Gin was awake, the gigai was functional, the worst hadn’t happened _. Gin was awake_.

It had been a nightmarish couple of days, and he knew people were worried about him. His dad threatened to tie him down to one of the beds in the clinic and hook him up to an IV if he didn’t at least drink some tea and eat the power bar he thrust in his face. Ichigo had, but only because it was easier than fighting. After that, the girls had hugged him and Tessai had checked on him like clockwork, and even Jinta, the little punk, had hovered in the background in case he wanted something.

They figured it out soon enough: all he wanted was Gin.

For twenty-four hours he’d been glued to the bed upstairs, watching for any sign of consciousness—a finger twitch, a breath, anything—but unlike a healing body a gigai was essentially corpse-like in its stillness. Gin’s pale skin was faded to gray, his hair limp and stuck to his head where it had been soaked with snowmelt and dried haphazardly.

He was a gruesome wax doll laid on a bier, a horrible half-ghost waiting to float away, and somehow… somehow, he was still beautiful. The quiet buzz of Gin’s reiatsu echoed through the room, the only thing that mattered, because as long as Ichigo could feel that, there was hope.

The training ground was dark and quiet except for the new buzzing in his hand. He’d taken over the basement on day two, at first determined to stay there until the moment Gin waked up, but he became more hesitant as the silent room loomed and questions ate at his mind.

He still didn’t understand what happened—why Gin had wandered out into the storm instead of meeting him as they’d arranged, and he was struggling with the aftermath.

It had taken him hours to realize Gin wasn’t just late he was _missing_ , and then hours more to find him, finally having Kisuke activate Gin’s gigai’s tracker. When he finally found him, Gin was past shivering, so cold that his body had given up trying to warm itself, and Ichigo could vividly remember the bird-bone weight of him under yards of sodden silk as he scooped him into his arms. It was not the way he’d daydreamed of holding him at all, all the joy leached out of it, and he ripped open a garganta straight to the shōten and Kisuke’s labs, turning his precious cargo over to his mad scientist best friend.

Ichigo sighed and levered himself to his feet, shoving the alarm back into his pocket. It was time. Kisuke had pointed out that Gin might not be up to facing everyone when he woke, and Ichigo was quick enough on the uptake to hear the unspoken _you_ in that message, but it didn’t matter. If Gin was there, then Ichigo would be there, too. 

Being Kurosaki Ichigo came with a lot of baggage, not the least of which was people thinking they understood him, but only three or four actually knew that underneath all the shiny hero stuff he was incredibly selfish. He fought for who he loved and what he wanted and what he believed, and if someone else didn’t like it, then screw them. Whether Gin ever shared his feelings was immaterial. The truth was that Gin was _his_ , and he would do whatever he had to to keep it that way. If that meant keeping his feelings to himself, he could do that. If it meant giving the other man space, fine. He’d stand back and watch and wait when he had to, chase and cheat when he could, and if after all of it Gin never came to feel the same way, well, Ichigo would just _stay_. He’d be a friend. Assist in the studio. Find Gin someone else that he could love and hold and grow old with because he’d been alone too long, and he deserved something more, and because loving someone was just that simple.

But, if Gin ever did something self-destructive like this again, he’d lock him in a room and throw away the key, because loving someone was simple, but losing them was hard, and he couldn’t do that again. 

***

Gin shrugged into the clothes Urahara had brought him, grateful for the soft workout pants and the extra pair of socks, but his lip twisted at the yellow hoodie on the top of the pile. It wasn’t his first choice of style, but he was freezing, and the extra layer made sense. After all the trouble he’d put the man to over the past few days, the last thing he was going to do was complain about the color of his generosity.

It was a pity that the silk kimono had been another casualty of his breakdown. He’d daydreamed about the look on Ichigo’s face when he saw it for the first time, fantasized about the temptation that the layers would present to him, but now he could only imagine what kind of memory it would drag along with it. Maybe he would get the chance to try again someday.

Ran had left soon after Gin’s awakening, clearing out so that Urahara could run his diagnostics and _he’d_ only left after he’d satisfied himself that there was no more leaking from Gin’s spirit body. He explained that he’d had to remove the reiatsu limiter from the gigai during his healing because it was interfering with his reishi levels returning to normal and it would feel strange after all the time he’d spent in the other, muffled state. 

He was right, but it was a good strange. It was almost like having eyes again after having been blind. Urahara and Tsukabishi kept their reiatsu tamped down tightly, but he could feel the sunburst of power that was Ichigo, at first tucked away in the basement where he’d apparently been for the past two days, but now clearly moving in his direction.

Gin pressed his shaking hands against the soft cotton covering his legs. Hiding wasn’t an option; he wasn’t going to be a coward and run away again. He just didn’t want to see the hurt that he knew he’d caused.

There was a soft knock at the door sooner than he’d expected. Ichigo must want to get their meeting over with as well.

“Come in, Kurosaki-kun,” he answered, his voice thankfully steady.

The door slid open and the sheer power that flooded the room was overwhelming. Ichigo had always had that power, but seeing him like this, without the veil over him, was breath-taking.

The redhead, though, looked almost as stunned by what he saw, awkwardly standing frozen in the doorway.

“I’m sorry.” Gin got right to the groveling. “Kurosaki-kun… Ichigo-kun… I am so sorry.”

He watched Ichigo’s face closely, watched the amber eyes widen and the lips part on a breathy intake.

“I’m just glad you’re alright.” His voice was hoarse, and his eyes took Gin in from his bedhead to his long, narrow rabbit-feet. It didn’t look like he was angry, but he didn’t know everything yet. Angry was still a definite possibility.

“I’m afraid there isn’t anywhere to sit except the bed,” he waved behind him, wishing he’d taken the time to straighten out the messy bedding, but it was too late for that now. “I’d like to explain. Or to try. If you wouldn’t mind.” He felt the muscles of his face try to smile, but there was nothing happy about it.

Ichigo was still just standing there, staring. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Gin asked. The words fell a little flat, but he didn’t know what else to say. Ichigo shook his head and brought himself back to something a little more normal.

“No, it’s just that that hoodie is…”

Gin snorted a little laugh. “I know. Not the most attractive thing, but Urahara was gracious enough to loan it to me since my own clothes… well, at least these were warm and dry.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Ichigo shook his head again, but this time with more intent. “I was just going to say that it was mine. I must’ve left it here the last time I stayed.” He swallowed and Gin watched his throat work, a faint hint of red dusting his cheekbones. “It looks good on you.”

Ichigo’s sweatshirt. He was wearing Ichigo’s sweatshirt. _That_ was why Urahara was grinning behind his fan as he left the clothes. The man was a menace.

“I didn’t know,” he said, halfway through an apologetic little bow before Ichigo could step forward, a hand outstretched.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind. I like it on you. It…” a battle of thoughts was happening behind those eyes and Gin forced himself stand perfectly still so he didn’t startle the younger man into pulling his hand back, finally breathing again when whatever process Ichigo was working through was finished. He met Gin’s gaze, unblinking. “It makes you look like you’re mine.”

 _Like you’re mine_. The world tilted and suddenly Ichigo’s arms were around him, guiding him back to the bed and settling him on the edge before he could end up in a pile on the floor.

“Take it easy,” he said, chafing Gin’s freezing hands between his warm ones. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Shit. And after pushing you so hard…”

Ichigo’s voice was rough with suppressed emotion, but his hands were incredibly gentle, and Gin couldn’t believe that this was happening.

“Did you talk to Ran?” It was a cheap way to start, hoping that Ran had already shared his shame, so he didn’t have to break that ground fresh.

“Matsumoto? No. Kisuke said something about her having to go back to Soul Society. I think Kyōraku wanted an update or something since she’d been here so long without an assignment.”

“Oh, okay.” Gin had known she had to go back, just as he now knew it was up to him to explain. “I just didn’t want to waste your time on things you already knew.”

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck with a rueful sound. “Yeah. It’s probably safe to assume I don’t know anything. What happened? I thought…” he stared at Gin and there was a flash of heartbreak in his eyes that Gin would have given years of his life to erase.

“Please,” Gin gripped Ichigo’s hand in his lap, refusing to let it go, leaning forward to almost touch their temples together, “just let me explain. I screwed up—monumentally, according to Ran—not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ichigo turned his hand palm up, leaving it in Gin’s grip. “Okay. If you say so, I’ll believe you, but _something_ happened, and I’d really like to understand so it doesn’t happen again.”

Gin sucked in a deep breath and tried to slow his heart. He didn’t deserve this much understanding, but Gods he was greedy enough to want it.

“You know me. I’ve never let people close. Ran-chan is the only person I’ve ever cared about. I’m not… temperate in my love. You saw what I did in the name of protecting her. Saw what I became.”

Ichigo nodded but didn’t interrupt, a sad look on his face.

“I don’t know if you realize what it was like for me, following Aizen for so long. I didn’t have friends. I didn’t have relationships. Sex wasn’t common and when it did happen it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t see anyone more than once or twice, and I was okay with that. I didn’t have the room or the resources or the time to actually care about someone.”

He paused and tried to straighten out the tangle of his thoughts. “It wasn’t until the fight with Aizen was over and my wounds had healed that I even began to feel like I had a soul again, and then I was sent to the human world where everyone’s emotions are so close to the surface all the time that you can practically see them. It was like having all my skin rubbed raw, I was _feeling_ again, and I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t know how. I certainly didn’t know what to do with you.”

Ichigo made a noise. “What do you mean you didn’t know what to do with me? You never seemed to have a problem with me.”

“I didn’t have a problem with you, you just weren’t what I expected. Do you know how strange it was to deal with someone like you after a hundred years of Aizen? I watched everything you did for hidden meanings and agendas but _every single time_ you were just exactly what you promised. No lies. No manipulation. No long game.”

The redhead snorted. “Yeah. Kisuke told me once I had all the cunning of a golden retriever, and that he was lucky that I was _almost_ as trainable.”

It was true enough to be funny and they shared a laugh.

“After a while I stopped searching for subtext and just started accepting you at face value. You were the only person I’d trusted in a hundred years, kind and smart and for some reason you valued me. I never had a chance. I fell. Hard.”

Ichigo made a sound deep in his throat, something that sounded wounded and hopeful and confused, and Gin couldn’t look at him or he’d never get the next part of the story out.

“At first I didn’t believe that you could feel the same way. No one would or could. Self-loathing isn’t a pretty thing, and I stewed in it. I told myself I was happy with what I had—not many people could count themselves on the short list of people you’d go to war for, and I was so grateful that you’d put me on that list but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.”

Ichigo raised his free hand to rest on the back of Gin’s neck, the warm weight of it grounding and comforting, and the blond sighed.

“Then things started to change. You started touching me more, smiling at me more, and I couldn’t believe my good fortune. You seemed interested in something more than just being friends, but I still didn’t trust that something like that could ever happen for me. I started to doubt almost as much as I hoped, and then you asked me to meet you at the festival and I told myself that if you did feel like I did, then every moment I put off telling you was a moment lost, so I—how did your Shakespeare put it?—screwed my courage to the sticking point and told myself that it was time to put myself out there and let you decide what you wanted, and I would take whatever you were willing to give me.”

“At the Festival?” Ichigo asked, and Gin nodded.

“It seemed like you had the same idea, so I dressed in my finest, wanting to offer you the best version of myself, and I left the studio early hoping to find you so I could spend every moment I could with you. And then, when I finally found you, you had your arms wrapped around another. Laughing. Allowing her to kiss you.”

Ichigo sat bolt upright and hissed out, “You saw me with _Matsumoto_.”

Gin nodded, curling in a little on himself with the pain of the memory. “It made a twisted kind of sense. Your family teased you about her, and she visited you often when she didn’t even come to see me. If you cared for her and she’d asked for you to help me, to take me under your wing, it is exactly the kind of thing you’d agree to. You’d go to any lengths for someone you loved, even rehabilitate a villain. And you looked so _happy_.” He couldn’t keep the wistful tone out of his voice. “It’s ironic that even while I felt like my world was falling apart, I couldn’t begrudge you your happiness. I just couldn’t stay and watch it. So, I left. I didn’t make a conscious decision, I just turned in the opposite direction and started walking. I didn’t stop until my gigai stopped me.”

And that was it. He’d laid it all out, and now it was up to Ichigo.

God, he was tired.

“I didn’t ever intend this.” He waved haphazardly at the room and the mess that his collapse had caused. “And I cannot begin t’ apologize enough for any hurt I caused you.”

Ichigo pulled him forward, hand tight on the back of his neck, and Gin could feel a tremble as it passed through his body. They sat like that in silence, heads together for a long time before Ichigo spoke.

“So, you don’t hate me?” The words were a whisper between them, insecure but hopeful. Gin whispered back. “I could never. I love you; I’ve loved you forever.”

Ichigo pulled back a little, his eyes huge and dark, searching Gin’s face for something he apparently found because he nodded once and leaned a fraction closer. “Good. I love you, too. I’m going to kiss you now.”

***

Gin’s lips were thin and dry, frozen still under his, shocked into immobility but not pulling away. Ichigo pulled back and their breath mingled hot between them, panting as if they’d shunpo’d the breadth of Seireitei.

“Wanted this for so long,” he murmured, leaning in to nip along the edge of Gin’s lower lip, “was so afraid I’d lost you.”

Something in that sparked movement and long fingers suddenly cupped his chin, tilting his head so that Gin could lean back in and slot their mouths together. It was sweetness and heat, lighting up all of Ichigo’s nerves, everything more intense than a simple brush of lips should be.

Gin was the one that pulled back then, fingers sliding up to hold Ichigo’s head where he wanted it, pressing their foreheads together again as they caught their breath.

“God, you’re gorgeous. Can’t believe you’re mine.” Gin’s accent is thicker, his pupils huge, the aquamarine nothing but a gossamer rim, and Ichigo has never seen anything so beautiful. “You’re stuck with me now. Never going t’ let you go.”

The possessiveness of the words sent a shiver through him and Ichigo slid his hands over Gin’s narrow hips, ghosting them along his long, lean flanks. He was thin, but it was all whipcord strength and sinew. Ichigo couldn’t wait until he had time to explore the sharp planes of his body, to dig his thumbs into the bony ridge of Gin’s hipbones, to kiss the dip between the wings of his shoulder blades. Those things would come soon enough, though. For now, with his arms around this man, he had everything he could ask for.

He leaned into his future, breathing hot against Gin’s cheek, recognizing his words for the promise that they were. He would always be there, Ichigo belonging to him as much as Gin belonged to Ichigo. He’d follow Ichigo into the depths of Hell if he had to to pull him back home, because that was what this was. What they were together.

He settled his arms around Gin’s waist, his embrace tight and insistent. “Why would I ever want to leave?” He pressed their lips together again, heart stuttering at how perfect it felt, before pulling back and smiling the way that only Gin could make him smile. “You’re my home.”


End file.
